


It's My Choice to Make

by AetherSeer



Series: Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: At 18, Zhenya’s in the public eye more often than not—a visible sign of the monarchy.Zhenya’s growing visibility means Sasha’s on alert when Zhenya decides to eat lunch at a cafe in Moscow after a visit to the children’s hospital. Sasha still doesn’t see the attack coming until it’s almost too late.





	It's My Choice to Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chartreuser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreuser/gifts).



At 18, Zhenya’s in the public eye more often than not—a visible sign of the monarchy. While it means that he’s coming to know his people and the values they hold dear to them, it also means he’s more vulnerable to those who don’t approve of the re-establishment of the royal family, despite the Kuznetsovs’ almost nonexistent political influence.

As a result, Sasha’s insisted the prince step up his self-defense training. The prince is willing enough … when their sparring sessions take place after noon.

Zhenya’s now nearly as tall as Sasha, although Sasha outweighs him by a good 15 kilos, at the very least. Although he’s not as strong as Sasha, his reaction times mean many of the bruises Sasha collects now are a testament to the prince’s skill rather than luck.

 

Zhenya’s growing visibility means Sasha’s on alert when Zhenya decides to eat lunch at a cafe in Moscow after a visit to the children’s hospital. Sasha still doesn’t see the attack coming until it’s almost too late.

 

Sasha coughs, lungs dragging in dust-filled air. Rock shifts above him when he breathes. Slowly, the ringing in his ears subsides, and his vision stabilizes. He can hear screaming in the distance. Sasha keeps breathing. The dust is settling.

He runs through his checklist of potential injuries. His limbs seem to work still, although his knee aches like hell when he tries to bend it. The pieces of wall resting on his chest don’t seem to be supporting anything else above him, so Sasha tries wiggling his body out from under them.

Blinding pain rockets through Sasha when he shifts, and he catalogues a dislocated or wrenched shoulder. He won’t be putting any more weight on _that_. Sasha feels every one of his 24 years—and every developing bruise—as he picks himself out of the rubble.

The dust has settled enough for Sasha to see the damage to the restaurant, and the huddle of brightly clothed tourists on the far side.

Sasha’s breath catches. He can’t see Zhenya.

Sasha’s barely upright and hobbling toward the group before a blur of red and gold slams into his chest. The blur resolves itself into Zhenya’s shaking frame, currently sobbing into Sasha’s chest. Sasha wraps his good arm around the prince and holds him close, shushing him.

Zhenya hiccups himself into hysterics, and Sasha slowly guides the two of them to a mostly intact wall, where Sasha can finally slide down into a sitting position. Zhenya ends up almost on his lap, mostly gentle hands fluttering anxiously over Sasha’s body. Sasha can’t hold back a pained grunt when Zhenya makes contact with his bad shoulder.

“Maybe not that one, little prince, eh?”

Zhenya’s still shaking. Sasha runs his hand over the prince’s short hair, the repetitive motion soothing both of them even as he watches the Moscow police sweep the rubble for more survivors. Sasha still has adrenaline running through his veins, enough to dull the pain when the paramedics guide him into a waiting ambulance.

Zhenya refuses to let go of Sasha’s hand, forcing the paramedics to work around him. Sasha doesn’t mind; Zhenya’s unhurt, which means Sasha’s done his job. Sasha’s still contemplating who to call to take over for him as he slips into unconsciousness.

 

Sasha wakes up in a hospital room. There’s a dull throbbing in his shoulder, but not the blinding pain of before. Sasha turns his head.

Sergei Federov stares calmly back at him. “Ice chip?”

Sasha winces. “Damage report?” he croaks out.

Seryozha slides an ice chip into Sasha’s mouth, and holds up a glass with a straw when Sasha manages to let the cool water slip down his throat. He feels a little more human when Seryozha gives him the update.

“The would-be assassin was buried in the rubble with you; she didn’t survive. Two were injured—a Canadian tourist and a Russian citizen from Magnitogorsk. The restaurant is closed for extensive repairs. And the Princess is to be notified when you are recovered enough for visitors.”

“Zhenya?”

Seryozha raises an eyebrow. “Your loyalty to your charge is to be commended. The prince is unhurt, although shaken by the attempt on his life. Alexander Semin has been assigned to him while you recover.”

Sasha knows Semin; they trained together before Sasha was permanently assigned, and they still meet up when their duties allow. Sasha relaxes back into the bed, wincing as he adjusts to account for his shoulder. Zhenya will be in good hands while Sasha heals.

 

Sasha gives his report of the attempted assassination to the police, to the Royal Guard, and to someone he thinks works for the GRU. He also has to deal with well-wishes from the general population, and head off his parents’ worries at the pass.

“I’m fine, Papa. I was just a little bruised” _when a wall dropped on me_ , he doesn’t add. “No one was killed” _except the assassin, but she deserved that_. “The prince is fine,” _but I haven’t seen him in a week. Sasha Semin texts me updates, but that’s not the same._ “No, I’m not quitting.” _I love this job; don’t take this away from me._

 

Sasha’s knee heals. He’s working back to fighting form, but it’s slow progress. His shoulder only aches slightly when he rotates it now. The bruises fade to ugly green and yellow, and then disappear.

Sasha gets updates from Semin; Zhenya has not taken the assassination attempt well, understandably enough. His public appearances have dropped, he has nightmares, and he refuses to talk to anyone about it—even Andre, when the Swede calls. Despite this, Sasha’s not prepared to receive a call from the princess demanding he talk to her son.

“Your Highness, I—”

“My son thinks he is responsible for your injuries,” she cuts him off. Sasha obediently falls silent. “You and I know that is not the case, but Evgeny is young. He has only just begun to understand the surface of politics. He cannot see beyond his own misplaced responsibility. You must make him see he is not to blame.”

 

Sasha doesn’t waste time wallowing in guilt; clearly Zhenya’s done enough of it for the both of them. He gets his ass to the palace the next day and coaxes Semin into giving him Zhenya’s schedule. By the time Zhenya’s due for self-defense training, Sasha has a rough plan formulated. Sure, it’s not much beyond sitting the prince down and explaining the assassination attempt—and Sasha’s resulting injuries—aren’t his fault for as many times as it takes Zhenya to believe him, but it’s a plan.

He doesn’t get a chance to implement it. Zhenya takes one look at Sasha standing in the training room and starts babbling apologies. Semin raises an expressive eyebrow and leaves the two of them to it, ostensibly taking up position outside the door.

“Zhenya,” Sasha finally barks out. “I don’t blame you for what happened!”

The prince swallows the rest of what he was about to say and bites his lip. His eyes flick from Sasha’s face to his shoulder to the way Sasha’s keeping his weight off his knee. “You were hurt protecting me,” Zhenya protests.

Sasha sighs and limps closer. He places his hands on Zhenya’s shoulders. “I was hurt doing my _job_ , Zhenya. My job is to keep you safe. _Your_ job is to lead Russia, and to be there for your people. You can’t do your job if you’re trying to do mine.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You are,” Sasha shuts Zhenya’s argument down firmly. “It is _not_ your responsibility to keep me from getting hurt. It is also not your responsibility when I get hurt protecting you. That’s _my job._ I’ve trained for this. I knew the risks and _I chose to accept them_.”

Zhenya seems to crumple then. His shoulders slump, he drops his gaze, and he sways forward. Sasha braces himself and gets them both to the floor in a controlled fall. Sasha’s knee twinges, but it’s not bad so he ignores it. Zhenya’s more important.

They sit for a while on the floor, oddly reminiscent of the aftermath of the attack. Sasha doesn’t ignore the hot tears Zhenya’s burying in Sasha’s shirt, but he doesn’t point them out. Instead, he runs his hands over Zhenya’s back, hoping the repetitive motion helps. Zhenya mumbles something indistinct into Sasha’s chest.

“What did you say?” Sasha asks.

Zhenya pulls back just a little, and turns his head to scrub his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “When are you coming back? I—I miss you. And Andre’s been asking about you,” he adds quickly.

Sasha laughs then. “Well, if _Andre’s_ been asking after me, then I should come back to work! Right, little prince?”

Zhenya pulls a face, and Sasha laughs harder. Zhenya still has tear tracks down his face, and he’s thinner than when Sasha saw him last, but Sasha thinks they’ve turned the corner. They’ll be okay. He’ll make sure of it.


End file.
